


Influenced

by onlyastoryteller



Series: A Room For The Night [9]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: M/M, Please Don't Hate Me, Sex Pollen, Yes I know I'm not supposed to write something new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22314733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/pseuds/onlyastoryteller
Summary: Armie meets Tim for dinner at the soft open of a brand new restaurant in New York. The place lives up to its name: Mysterioso. The meal is fantastic, but afterwards, Armie is left feeling a little...well. It's just that Tim is adorable in his all-black outfit with his shiny curls and shiny lips and...
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: A Room For The Night [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1217478
Comments: 240
Kudos: 404





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE DON'T HATE ME PLEASE DON'T HATE ME PLEASE DON'T HATE ME
> 
> I _know_ I know. I know, okay? I've got all these open WIPs and I'm not supposed to write anything else. 
> 
> But here's the thing. I have been utterly incapable of producing a damned thing worth anything since New Year's. Total blockage. All that's showing up on the computer screen is utter crap and not fit for print.
> 
> Today, I finally was able to write something again. So I'm doing it. 
> 
> This was to be a one shot but I'm long-winded and impatient so it's most likely 2-3 chapters. And then -- hopefully -- I'll be able to finally make the right words happen in the final chapter of Potestas so I can get back to the others as well. Fingers crossed.
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy a trope that this fandom doesn't really have and that I suddenly needed to write more than I needed to breathe.

Mysterious.

That was the name of the restaurant, in Italian. _Mysterioso_. It certainly fit.

Armie stood across the street from the address Tim had texted him, trying to decide if he was in the right place. In his experience, restaurants that were open showed some signs of life: light spilling out of the windows, the name of the place on a placard out front, people going in and out. This place was the opposite. There were boards or blackout shades pulled over the windows, the door hadn’t opened in the fifteen minutes he had been standing here, and the storefront wasn’t marked in any way.

His phone buzzed in his hand, and he glanced down at the incoming text.

_TC: You’re still coming, right? Or did something come up?_

Armie tapped out a response.

_I might be here. It’s hard to tell. There’s no sign. Did you give me the wrong address?_

Tim’s reply was instantaneous.

_TC: You’re in the right place. Soft open, remember? Invite only, so there’s no sign yet._

Armie did remember. When he had called Tim to let him know when he’d be arriving in New York to start preparations for the new play, Tim had lit up like a Christmas tree, grinning from ear to ear.

“Dude, it’s going to be so dope to have you around for a couple of weeks before I head to London. We can hang like we used to.” He shook his curls out of his eyes. “I mean, you’ll probably be busy but I can just kind of fit myself around your schedule. If you want.”

“I want,” Armie said, laughing. “And I’ll be there a couple of days before I have to report to the theater, anyway. I wanted to settle in first.”

“Nice. Hey, let’s have dinner, the day you arrive. You won’t have food or anything at your place yet, and you need to eat anyhow.”

“Sure,” Armie said. He had been about to suggest he’d call when he landed and they’d make a plan, but Tim kept talking.

“I actually got an invite to a soft opening of this new place that night. It looks cool, one of those ‘no recording devices’ spots, so we don’t have to worry about being photographed. If you’re still worried about that.” 

Tim’s smile faltered a moment, and Armie’s heart broke a little. He knew the _we can’t be seen together a while_ policy had hurt Tim, even though it was for the best. While he and Elizabeth wound up their marriage, it was better for everyone if Tim was publicly nowhere near him. Tim knew this, and yet…

“Just a little while longer, T,” Armie said. “I’m sorry. But after the spring it’ll be different.”

“No problem,” Tim said. The smile was back. “So what do you think? About dinner?”

“I think it sounds perfect,” Armie had replied.

Now, Tim sent one more text.

_TC: Get in here, this place is something else._

Armie crossed the street and approached the large wooden door. He half expected it to be locked, but when he gripped the iron handle, it opened easily.

He stepped inside, and his uncertainty evaporated as he heard the rhythm of soft conversation and the clinking of cutlery on china coming from the curtained archway next to the hostess stand at the end of the short hallway. It _was_ a restaurant, they _were_ open, and — there, _there_ was a sign, on the wall to the left.

_Mysterioso_ , it read, in a curly red script. 

And then, in smaller gold script beneath: _a consuming adventure_ _awaits_

“Good evening, sir.” 

Armie jumped at the voice and looked up, to find a woman standing at the hostess station. She had definitely not been there a moment ago, had she? Unless she had been bending down and hidden by the mahogany column. He smiled and approached.

“Hi. I’m meeting someone, he’s here already. I could—”

“Yes, sir, I’ll bring you right to your table. I’ll first take your coat, and I just need you to sign our agreement.” A pale arm clad in a burgundy velvet poet’s sleeve emerged from behind the stand and placed a sheet of paper on the surface. Red and gold-painted fingernails tapped the paper. “It’ll just take a moment.”

Armie shrugged his coat off and handed it to her, and she disappeared into a small room behind her. He squinted down at the agreement she had left. In the dim lighting, it was a little hard to read. He picked up the paper and tried to angle it to catch the light better, but the script was still a little muddled.

“What’s this about?” he asked, as she reappeared. He caught the words _recording devices_ at the start of the second paragraph, and relaxed. “Oh. Got it. Do you need me to check my phone with you, or—”

“No sir,” she said. “You may keep it with you. We just ask that you not take any photos or video while inside.”

He accepted the silver pen she handed him and scribbled his name and the date on the line at the bottom. She whisked the paper away and then handed him a second. 

“For your own records,” she said, when he raised his eyebrows. He nodded, folded the paper into eighths, and stuck it in his back pocket, though he couldn’t imagine why he’d need it.

She parted the curtains under the arch and slipped through, and he followed. They entered a small dining room. The walls were paneled with a rich oak, and there didn’t appear to be any windows, which would explain why, from the street, there was nothing. The room contained maybe twenty small tables, and Tim was grinning and waving from one in the far corner.

Armie couldn’t help but grin back. It was an automatic response, conditioned from years of knowing that he was always happiest whenever Tim was around. He drank in the sight of his best friend: Tim’s hair was the right length again, finally, surrounding his face in wild, shiny ringlets. He looked thin — maybe too thin, it was hard to tell — but that could also have been because he was clad in a black long-sleeved shirt that hugged his torso and black pants that seemed molded perfectly to his trim hips.

The hostess wound her way around the other tables, mostly filled with patrons at various stages of dining, and Armie followed. When he reached Tim, the kid jumped up and wrapped his skinny arms around Armie’s waist. Armie hugged him back, pulling him close and reveling — just for a moment — in having his arms once again full of the person who meant the most to him in the world, after his children. They both hung on for what was probably a few seconds too long, as always. Tim’s soft curls tickled his nose, and he allowed himself one short intake of breath, inhaling a slightly sweet honey-laced scent that was all Tim. 

The hostess cleared her throat softly.

“Dude.” Tim let go and stepped back, placing a hand on the back of his own neck and looking a little sheepish. “It’s so great to see you. Uh, let’s...let’s sit?”

They settled into opposite chairs, and Armie leaned back as the hostess set two small square menus down in front of them.

“Your server will be with you shortly,” she said. “Enjoy your evening.”

There was a long beat as she moved away, and then they both started talking at once.

“How was your flight—” Tim began, as Armie said, “What kind of food do they have here?”

They both stopped, laughed, and then he gestured to Tim to talk first.

“I was just asking about your flight,” Tim said. 

“Fine. On time. Smooth,” Armie said. “It must be my lucky day.”

He glanced down at the menu, flipped it over, and then flipped it back. “This is all they have?” he said, scanning the sparse listing of items. 

Tim shrugged. “Soft open,” he said. “I don’t think their full menu is ready.”

A waiter arrived with two tumblers of brown liquid, set them down, and slipped away. Armie looked at Tim in question.

“I ordered us scotch,” Tim explained. “I hope that’s okay. They’ve got some mixed drink concoctions on this other menu here—” he gestured at a slim card that was laid to the side of this place setting, “— but they seemed a little over the top.”

“It’s great,” Armie said. He picked up his glass and raised it towards Tim. “To two weeks of unhindered bro time.” 

Tim laughed and picked up his own glass. “For sure,” he said, tapping his drink against Armie’s. He sipped, and then sighed happily. “Fuck, it’s been a while, though.”

“L.A., right?” Armie said. “October. When I came back to see the kids? That was the last time.”

The waiter returned. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “Have you decided what you’d like to dine on this evening?”

Armie glanced back down at the menu. There seemed to be three choices of a first course, three of a main course, and three of a dessert. The trouble was, the items listed had strange, non-descriptive names. The first course, for example, was a choice of _Estremo Desiderio_ , _Bel Viso,_ or _Fantasia di Fiducia_. Even translating in his head with his rusty Italian, it didn’t make much sense. They seemed more fanciful than informative, and if there was a comment card, he was going to make the suggestion they name their items better or at least describe them on the menu.

“Can you explain the menu?” he asked. “I’m having a hard time telling what these things are.”

“It’s our specialty to design you a menu that suits you,” the waiter said. “For you both, I would recommend the _Estremo Desiderio_. It is a shareable first course.”

“But what _is_ it?” Armie asked.

The waiter examined him, turned to Tim, and then smiled. “A seafood platter, including oysters, shrimp cocktail, and tuna poké.”

“That sounds great,” Tim said. “That okay for you?”

Armie nodded. “Sure. Tuna poké at an Italian restaurant?” he asked.

“We are Nouveau American,” the waiter explained. “A fusion of cultures. But the owner is Italian, hence the name.”

“Fine, okay,” Armie said. “And then for the main course—”

“Would you like something truly memorable? Or something a bit lighter?” the waiter asked.

“Memorable,” Tim said. “Definitely.”

“Then I recommend the _Esperienza Completa_ ,” the waiter said, smiling at Tim. “Ribeye steak would suit you both.”

“Perfect,” Armie said, a little impressed despite himself.

“For dessert—”

“You know what?” Armie said, holding his menu out, “Surprise us.”

“Of course.” The waiter took the menus and retreated, leaving them alone once more.

“Weird place,” Tim said. “I mean, it is called _Mysterious_.”

“Good point,” Armie said. 

They chatted about normal things — the kids, Tim’s parents, their friends — for the next few minutes, and Armie felt himself relaxing into the comfortable space of his relationship with Tim. He never needed to worry about how he appeared to the kid, because Tim knew him inside and out and liked him just fine.

The waiter returned with a beautiful seafood platter, and Armie’s mouth watered at the sight. They stopped talking momentarily to dig in, and before long the platter was reduced to a small pile of ice, oyster shells and shrimp tails. Armie wiped his fingers on his napkin and resettled it in his lap. 

Tim was doing the same, and Armie peered at him suddenly. He leaned forward, then reached out and gripped Tim’s chin with his right hand. Tim stilled, his nostrils flaring slightly. Armie tipped his head back and forth, noting the way the light caught an extra shine on Tim’s lips.

“Are you wearing lip gloss?” he asked.

“I...maybe?” Tim said. He smiled a shaky smile. “Is it dumb?”

“No, it’s…” Armie stared at Tim’s lips. He often found himself staring at Tim’s lips, but he tried not to make a habit of it, since he figured it would make Tim uncomfortable to know his best friend still, occasionally, thought about kissing him. Armie let go of Tim’s chin and sat back. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” Tim said, ducking his head.

“What does it taste like?” Armie asked. _Wait, stop,_ he cautioned himself. What was he doing?

“Nothing,” Tim said. Was he blushing? It was hard to tell in the soft lighting. “It tastes like...lip gloss. It’s not flavored, just...shiny. You can try it, if you want.”

Armie’s stomach flipped once, lost in the quicksand of imagining _actually_ kissing Tim again, licking the shine off of his lips, pressing against that soft...but then Tim was holding up a small pink cylinder he had pulled from his pocket. The lip gloss. Right. He shook his head with a chuckle.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, and Tim stowed the gloss once more.

During the main course — which was truly fantastic — they talked about their upcoming projects, remarking on how funny it was that they were both doing theater at the same time. They talked about process, and the characters, and their costars. At some point, Armie felt Tim’s calf settle against his under the table. Inadvertent, probably, though he didn’t move it away, and they sat, with that small point of connection, for the rest of the meal.

He kept noticing tiny things about Tim, a million bits and pieces he had seen before, been well acquainted with, remembered like they were part of himself. The little scar on the ring finger of his left hand, the way his long fingers tapered to delicate wrists, the slightly crooked front teeth that showed when he laughed, the tiny hairs that connected his eyebrows...Armie felt like Tim was suddenly before him in high-def, every cell crystal clear and in sharp focus.

“I love your hair this length,” Tim said, after the waiter had cleared their dinner plates. He stood slightly and reached across the table, brushing his hand across the short cut. Armie tipped his head forward to give Tim better access, closing his eyes at the sensation of cool fingers dancing along his scalp. “I used to think I liked it best the way it was when we met. Oliver hair. But every time you cut it all off, it just…” He drew his hand away suddenly and sat back down, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Armie said, mourning the loss. “Touch it like that all you want, I like it when you—”

The waiter appeared again, and Armie stopped talking, suddenly grateful for the interruption. What had he been about to say? _I like it when you touch me._ Jesus. He needed to get it together. He did not have the hots for his best friend, who definitely did not have the hots for him. Once in a while, maybe, he thought about it. Remembered what it had been like to lie with Tim during filming. The way his gut had stirred and his heart had sped up when they kissed. But not often. Certainly not every day. 

Okay, maybe _most_ days. But the thoughts were fleeting. Meaningless. Barely worth noting.

Dessert was a rich chocolate mousse piled high with a cinnamon-flavored whipped cream, served in a wide goblet with two spoons. They dug in, their spoons doing battle as they laughingly fought over the creamy treat. This was amazing too, Armie thought. He was definitely going to fill out a glowing comment card. The place was a little odd, but the meal had been on point. He wondered how Tim had gotten an invite? He’d have to ask.

When there was one last bite of mousse at the bottom of the goblet, they eyed each other. Then Armie’s hand shot out like lightning and scooped it onto his spoon. He grinned at the pout on Timmy’s face.

“Don’t be sad, baby,” Armie said. “I’m bigger than you, I need the larger share.”

“But it’s so good,” Tim said. “And I’m so skinny. Do you want me to waste away?”

“You’re not wasting away, you just ate a huge steak, a pile of potatoes, a bunch of asparagus, three oysters, two jumbo shrimp, a half a bowl of poké, and half of this.” But Armie leaned across the table and offered the spoon. “Here, take it and smile again.”

Tim’s face lit up, and instead of taking the utensil from Armie like he expected, the kid opened his mouth and closed his lips around Armie’s spoon. He got a blissful look on his face and Armie watched, mouth going dry, as Tim slid off the spoon and then licked his lips.

“Thank you,” he said, beaming.

Armie tore his eyes away from Tim and set the spoon down by his plate, his hand shaking a bit. What was wrong with him? He was probably just tired from traveling. He should get back to the hotel — his temporary lodging until the condo was available next week — and get some sleep. He cleared his throat and then signaled for the waiter.

“We’d like the check,” he said.

The waiter shook his head. “The meal is complimentary,” he said. “Did your companion not tell you?”

Armie glanced at Tim.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” Tim said. “The invitation said something about that. Awesome.”

“Well, great,” Armie said. “I mean, it was fantastic. Did you want us to give you feedback?”

The waiter produced a small card for each of them. “Sometime over the next few days, log on to this website and you can leave your review,” he said. “And please, enjoy your evening.”

Armie was imagining that the waiter seemed to be emphasizing the “enjoy” part of the sentiment. It didn’t matter, anyway. They had just had a fantastic meal, for free. And he had gotten to spend time with Tim, which was the main objective, after all. 

As he got to his feet, and Tim did the same, he realized that that part of the experience was coming to a close for the night, and felt a pang of regret. They could hang out here a little longer, thought that would be awkward, now that they had already stood.

He gestured for Tim to precede him towards the exit, and followed closely behind. Too close, maybe, but he couldn’t seem to help it. His hand was drawn like a magnet to the small of Tim’s back, and the closer he got the closer he wanted to get.

The hostess appeared with their coats as they moved into the entry hall, and Armie took them both. On instinct, he helped Tim with his, letting his fingers dance along Tim’s arms and shoulders. When he realized what he was doing, he quickly turned his attention to putting on his own coat.

“Thank you for coming,” the hostess said. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thanks,” he said. “You too.”

They emerged from the restaurant onto the sidewalk, and the brisk wind woke him up a little, seemed to bring him back to reality.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Tim said. He twisted back and forth on the sidewalk, then stamped his feet and blew out a steamy breath.

“January in New York,” Armie said. He smiled at the way Tim’s nose and cheeks immediately turned a bright pink.

“What are you up to now?” Tim asked.

“Probably sleep, honestly,” Armie said. “I’m feeling a little…”

“Oh, yeah. Me too,” Tim said. “Must be the food, that kind of meal always makes me sleepy.”

Armie’s hand drifted up of its own accord and landed on Tim’s chin. “You’re all rosy-cheeked,” he said. “It’s cute.”

Tim gazed up at him, his eyes shining in the glow of the streetlight. “Your hand is warm,” he said. “You’re always so warm. And I’m always so cold. Isn’t that funny?”

Armie took a tiny step towards Tim. For some reason. “Balances out,” he said.

“Yeah. Balances,” Tim said. He stepped closer as well, and now their coats brushed together. “We always balanced. Each other. Or on a line. Or…” He laughed softly. “Shit, I don’t know what I’m even saying. The scotch must have hit me harder than I thought.”

“You okay to get home?” Armie asked. He scrutinized Tim’s face. They had only had two drinks apiece, and that shouldn’t have affected Tim so much, but the kid’s eyes _were_ a little unfocused.

“Sure,” Tim said, but he didn’t move away. 

And Armie’s palm was still cupping Tim’s cheek. It felt like it was stuck there, like he couldn’t move it even if he wanted to. Only...he could. He slid his hand around to the back of Tim’s neck, nestled his fingers in the soft hair. Tim’s eyes drifted shut.

Armie felt a tell-tale tightening in his pants, and blinked. _What?_ No. He dropped his hand and took a step backwards, putting distance between them once more. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants and tried to subtly shift himself. The last thing he wanted was for Tim to see that he was getting aroused — and what the _fuck_ , Hammer, he scolded himself — and freak out.

Tim was blinking back at him, he cheeks even redder than before. “So I guess...I’ll see you?” he said, his voice hoarse. The thought of Tim turning and walking away made Armie feel itchy, like he was allergic to the idea. He took a tiny step backward, trying to make himself ready to part, and the tingling sensation worsened.

“Yeah, I…unless you want to come to the hotel for a while,” Armie heard himself say.

As soon as he said it, he felt better. Less on edge. That was probably because Tim was grinning at him again, all crooked teeth and glossy lips.

“Really?” Tim said. “I thought you wanted to sleep.”

“Well, maybe not,” Armie said. “We were gonna hang, right? No reason we can’t keep doing it. Come on, the place is only a few blocks from here. We can walk.”

“Okay,” Tim said. 

He moved toward Armie again, and Armie wrapped his arm around Tim’s shoulders without thinking about it. He rubbed his hand up and down Tim’s arm, and Tim sighed, leaning into him. They started down the street, sides pressed together, pace matched perfectly. After a minute, he shifted his arm so that he could grip Tim’s hip instead of his arm. He felt the bones beneath his fingers, pressed into them, heard a small gasp, and then Tim’s step faltered.

“Sorry,” Armie said, withdrawing his hand back to Tim’s arm. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Tim said. “No, you’re not…you didn’t hurt me.” He sounded a little breathless. “I’m just feeling a little weird I guess.”

“Me too, actually,” Armie said. “Maybe something in the food? Do you feel like it’s food poisoning?”

“I don’t feel _bad_ ,” Tim said. “Just...never mind.” He stopped walking, and Armie let go of him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I am feeling a little shaky,” he said. “Can we...could we maybe take a cab the rest of the way?”

Armie immediately flagged down a cab and hustled Tim into the backseat. He gave the driver the hotel address and then turned to Tim, concerned.

“You’re all flushed,” Armie said. “I thought it was the cold, but maybe you’re sick.”

“You’re kind of flushed too,” Tim said. He reached up and patted Armie’s cheek. “All pink and heated.” He patted Armie’s cheek again, then flattened his palm against it and sighed. “And smooth. Did you just shave? Tonight? Before coming to meet me?”

Armie nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to look nice.”

“You do,” Tim said. “But you always do. Look nice. To me.”

With a smile, Armie scooted a few inches closer to Tim. He couldn’t help it. It was just because he wanted to take care of him, that was it, he was sure. But as soon as he was close enough, Tim leaned up against him, resting his head on Armie’s chest. His hand slid down Armie’s cheek to his neck. Armie wrapped his arms around Tim. He felt like he couldn’t get close enough, and maybe Tim felt the same way, because he wriggled until he was practically sitting in Armie’s lap.

There was a time when this would have been _normal_ , that they would have reached for each other in comfort without thinking twice about it. A time when boundaries were unheard of, and Tim seemed at times to be a mere extension of himself rather than a separate person. But those times had passed. Things were different, now.

Unless maybe they weren’t. At this moment, as Tim’s body melted into his, Armie felt like he had those years ago, as if no time at all had passed. And he suddenly felt the urge to _show_ Tim, in some real way, how much that meant to him.

He nuzzled into Tim’s hair and kissed the top of his head, and Tim hummed.

“Armie,” he murmured.

“Yeah. I’m here.” Armie kissed Tim again.

“And I’m so happy you are. Here,” Tim said. “I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too, T,” Armie said.

Tim tipped his face up and smiled, and he was so close — so close, his lips were right there, practically already touching — Armie destroyed the minuscule distance that separated them and pressed his lips against Tim’s.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is...wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short update, but I knew if I didn't get it out there, it would be a while. Sorry for the delay. Life has been insane. Look for more soon, I hope!

As soon as his lips touched the silky, slightly sticky texture of Tim’s, Armie’s heart began to pound. 

He froze. _What was he doing?_

Cautiously, he pulled back. Tim was looking at him with wide, dazed eyes, his mouth parted. “Armie. What—“

“Sorry.” Armie disentangled himself from Tim and shifted several inches towards the door. To his relief — disappointment? — Tim was doing the same, and now there was a foot of space between them. Hated, needless space. There was a faint roaring in his ears, and he felt warm. Too warm. He resisted the compulsion to move back, get rid of that space again, get rid of this... _wrong_ feeling. “Fuck. I don’t know why I...I was just…”

“Yeah. It’s okay,” Tim said. “I know what you mean. I feel...something is wrong, I think.“

Tim stared at him, and he stared back. It was as if a bubble had formed around them, blocking out the rest of the world. Only Tim was clear, everything else was a soft fuzz on the outside. Tim licked his lips, and that was when Armie realized he was fully hard, his dick like a rock against his thigh. 

“We’re here.” The cab slid to a stop, and the driver’s voice broke into their bubble, popping it. Sound from the rest of the world rushed in again, and Armie looked out the window. Sure enough, there was his hotel. 

He opened his door and was out in the street in less than a second. He needed...the fresh air. The sounds of the traffic. The reminder of reality. 

Fuck, he needed to pay for the ride. 

He braced a hand on the door frame and leaned down, came face to face with Tim, who was in the process of climbing out. 

“Sorry,” he said, backing up abruptly. “We need to...the cab. I have to pay him.”

Tim blinked. “Right. Uh...I got it,” he said. He slid back inside, fumbled his wallet out of his pants and a card out of his wallet. He slid it through the machine three times because he kept missing the reader. Finally, he let out a grunt of satisfaction and was climbing out of the cab again. 

As the cab drove away, Armie backed towards the revolving door, but Tim hovered at the curb, rocking on his toes. 

“Should I...maybe I shouldn’t have let the cab go. Should I still come in?” Tim asked. 

Armie’s stomach sank. He had fucked things up by kissing Tim. It had just been a little peck, though. Barely anything. They could ignore it...if only Armie could stop thinking about doing it again. If only he could get his fucking dick to behave so he didn’t scare the kid off for good. 

“Do you not want to?” Armie asked. 

“I do. I just...if you’re not feeling well either...”

“Don’t go,” Armie said. “I mean...maybe we should keep an eye on each other.” He didn’t want Tim to walk away. The idea left him feeling on edge. But what he was saying was the truth, if something from dinner was affecting them he’d rather be able to take care of Tim than have him off and sick on his own. 

“Yeah, okay,” Tim said. 

Armie led the way into the hotel lobby, past the front desk, to the elevator. He jammed his finger on the up button. The elevator seemed to take forever, and he stared intently at his feet, drumming his fingers on his thighs. 

He could _feel_ Tim. Even without looking at him. The kid was a few feet away, to his left. He was moving, fidgeting. Armie could sense the restless energy emanating from him. It matched Armie’s own.

The elevator doors slid open, and he moved inside, holding an arm out to keep the door open while Tim hurried in after him. He punched the button for the seventeenth floor, and the doors slowly rolled shut again. The contraption groaned to life. Armie wondered, briefly, how old the elevator was, and how likely they were to get stuck in it. The way he was feeling, being stuck in an enclosed space with Timmy would be...not good. In the time since getting out of the cab, he had begun to think of nothing but what it would feel like to _really_ kiss Tim. To touch him. To make him moan.

Maybe being stuck in the elevator wouldn’t be so terrible after all. 

He clenched his teeth, shoved his hands deep in his pockets and trained his eyes on the seam between the wood paneling on the wall to his right. After a moment, Timmy spoke up.

“Armie?” His voice was slightly choked, as though he was speaking around a gumball stuck in his throat.

“Yeah?” Armie asked.

“I think…” Timmy blew out a long, slow breath. “Can you look at me?”

Armie wasn’t sure he could. There was a roaring in his ears again, and it was getting louder. He was so aroused it _hurt_. He felt like if he looked at Tim, he might—

“Please?”

Armie swallowed. He could do this. There was no reason he couldn’t do this. Slowly, he turned his head. His best friend was gazing at him, his eyes dark pools, pupils blown wide. Tim let out a whimper, and then crossed the small space in a single long stride. He flattened his palms against Armie’s chest and slid his hands up to his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t help it.”

And then he was up on his toes and kissing Armie, his lips moving and demanding a response, which Armie was only too happy to give. 

Kissing Tim felt like the most blissful relief Armie had ever experienced. The roaring faded to a dull hum and that itchy sensation in his skin quieted to a light tingle as soon as their mouths met. He relaxed into the lithe body in front of him, tangled his tongue with Tim’s and groaned. 

Tim pressed forward and slid his leg up Armie’s until his knee rested on Armie’s hip. Armie wrapped one hand around Tim’s thigh, placed his other hand on Tim’s ass, and hefted him up, earning him a little kitten mewl that made him even harder, if it was possible. They slid together and it was like an electric shock.

Armie growled and yanked Tim closer. He slid a hand up under Tim’s coat and shirt and kneaded into the skin of his back. Tim closed his fingers around Armie’s ears and pulled, thrusting his tongue almost to the back of Armie’s throat.

Then the elevator dinged, the door slid open, and reality came crashing back in. They were in an elevator, _in public_ , and going at each other like teenagers. He was kissing his best friend, rubbing against him, thinking about being naked. _What the actual fuck._

He pushed Tim off of him, wincing as the buzzing in his head increased once more. The kid’s lips were puffy, his cheeks a blotchy pink, his eyes shimmering in the golden light. He looked momentarily hurt, and Armie grabbed his hand.

“Come on,” he said. “We need to—”

He dragged Tim down the carpeted hallway, thankful that they weren’t running into other guests. He didn’t think he could handle having to pretend to be _normal_ right now, when all he could think about was getting inside his hotel room, ripping Tim’s clothes off him, and throwing him on the bed.

He got the door open after four tries, cursing a blue streak the entire time. It would have been easier if he was using two hands, but he wasn’t willing to let go of Tim, and by the grip Tim had on _his_ hand, he wasn’t sure Tim would allow it, either.

Once inside, he slammed the door shut and shoved Tim against it. Tim moaned in relief, his hands flying up and down Armie’s chest until they landed on his belt. As Armie tugged at Tim’s hair and fastened his lips on Tim’s throat, Tim managed to get Armie’s belt off and his pants undone.

_What are you doing? This is Tim. Your best friend, who you’re about to—_

The thought floated through Armie’s fuzzy brain and he snagged it before it could disappear. Then, in a brief moment of sanity, he closed his fingers around Tim’s wrist in time to stop Tim’s hand from descending into his pants. 

Tim whined. “Armie, let me—“

“Wait,” Armie ground out through clenched teeth. “Hold on, just…” He continued to keep his viselike grip on Tim’s wrist as Tim’s fingers stretched towards him, brushing at the sensitive skin just above his boxers. Armie hissed. 

“Don’t you want to?” Tim asked. “Please say you want to, I’m going crazy here. I—“

“I want to. But—”

“Then let me. Let me, _please,_ ” Tim said. He continued to strain against Armie’s grasp.

It would be so easy. To let go, to allow Tim’s hand to plunge into his boxers and wrap around his cock. To throw Tim over his shoulder and toss him on the bed. To indulge in all the fantasies he’d had for the past several years, see if what he had imagined lined up at all with reality.

But Tim had never acted like this before. This wild, out of control, frantic Tim was not the normal Tim. Something was different. They had always been affectionate, but Tim had never come at him like _this_. Through the haze of desire, Armie knew that something was wrong. It had to be. There was no other explanation. 

Something was wrong, or else Tim wouldn’t want him like this.

Using every bit of willpower he could scrape together, Armie pushed away from Tim and took several steps back. He held up his hands.

“Wait,” he said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Tim came at him again, he wasn’t going to be able to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really did think I only had one more chapter but it turned out I was wrong as per usual. Enjoy this bit, there will be more soon.

Armie and Tim stared at each other, eight feet of plush beige carpet separating them. 

The buzzing had risen again in Armie’s head, roaring as if a lawnmower had kicked up a hornets nest. He took another step back, and it got worse. 

By the door, Tim’s hands flew up to cover his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head back and forth. 

“What’s happening?” he asked, his voice breaking on the _ing_ and trailing into a moan as he crumpled to his knees. 

“I don’t...know.” Armie reached blindly behind him and grabbed onto something hard and smooth — the edge of the desk. He gripped it tightly, his fingers sliding on the cool marble surface. He needed something to keep him from bolting back across the room and wrapping Tim in his arms. 

Maybe he _should_ do that. Why wasn’t he? For a second, Armie couldn’t remember why he had moved away at all. 

“God. Armie, I’m sorry. I can’t...I feel…” Tim raised his head and when he locked eyes with Armie, they were a cocktail of pain and desire. 

Suddenly, Tim pushed to his feet. Armie tensed. If Tim came at him again, he wasn’t going to be able to resist. And that would fuck everything up because no matter what was going on _right now_ , he knew it was false. It had to be. Viagra in their food or something. 

And when it wore off, they wouldn’t be able to look at each other, Tim would hate him for letting it happen, and his life would suck. 

So when Tim took a step forward, a keen focus on his face, Armie ran. He ran straight for the bathroom, swung the door shut behind him, and slid the lock home. 

The pounding started almost immediately. 

“Armie.” _Bang, bang, bang._ “Open the door. Please.”

Armie braced his palms against the wood. 

“I can’t,” he replied. 

“Why? You can, just—“

“I can’t,” Armie repeated. “You’ll hate me.”

“What? You’re not making sense. Just open the door.” More banging. 

Armie waited, his breath coming in heaves. He let his forehead fall forward and hit the door with a thunk. After a beat of silence, there was an answering thunk. Armie’s mouth turned up at the corners, knowing that, on the other side of the door, Tim’s forehead was resting against his. The buzzing quieted a bit. Not much, but he could think a little.

“You still there?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.” The response came through clenched teeth.

“Are you okay?”

A frustrated grunt, and then a _thwack_ as Tim must have smacked his palm against the door. “It hurts. It’s better when you’re touching me. Please open the door.”

Armie’s eyes slid shut. He never wanted Tim to hurt. And if Tim was feeling even half of what he was feeling…

From the other side of the door, he heard a long, guttural moan. It sounded like Tim was—

There was a desperate groan. “I’m so...I’m so _hard_ , Armie. And so hot. I’ve never been — this isn’t normal — I need —” 

He _was_. Tim was jerking off on the other side of the door. Armie couldn’t have stopped himself from palming his own erection in response if there was a gun to his head. As soon as he made contact through his pants, he moaned along with Tim.

His pants were already undone, so he shoved them down and took his cock in his hand. It was a deep red, almost purple, and touching it brought a combination of pain and extreme pleasure. He stroked downwards once, and then a second time, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. It hurt, and yet he was compelled to continue.

If the sounds from the hotel room were any indication, Tim was going through the same thing. Armie listened to Tim’s desperate moans, and struck up a rhythm of his own in time with them. Even _this_ was going too far, he thought. Stroking himself off to the sounds of Tim doing the same...how were they ever going to live with this?

None of those thoughts stopped him from continuing, however. From the sounds he was making, Tim was picking up the pace, and Armie followed suit. His hand flew over his cock, heat rose in his chest and neck, and he felt himself tensing in anticipation.

Tim let out a strangled cry, a mix of _god_ and _Armie_ and _please_. Hearing his name on Tim’s lips as he came was all Armie needed, and he was coming in long, hot streams that spilled over his hand and painted the bathroom door.

He heard a thud.

“Tim?” he managed, gasping for breath. “You okay?”

“No,” Tim said, his voice coming from somewhere below. He must have crumpled to the floor. “It didn’t help. It’s _worse_.”

Armie looked down at his own cock, still an angry red color, still hard as a rock. His legs were shaking from the strength of his release, and he let himself sink to his knees. He pulled his shirt away from his chest and let it fall, then tugged at his collar. He was _hot_ , as if he had a fever.

“Me too,” he said. His hand went to his dick again and he swallowed a moan as he gently stroked himself. It hurt, but he couldn’t stop.

The tips of two fingers appeared underneath the door. 

Armie hesitated, and then shifted so that he was sitting with his back to the door. He kicked off his pants and boxers and then let the fingers of his left hand rest on Tim’s. They both sighed as even that tiny contact seemed to bring relief from the roaring and buzzing and tingling. Armie turned his head and rested his cheek against the wood, which was blissfully cooler than his skin.

“What’s wrong with us?” Tim asked.

“Something we ate,” Armie replied. “Maybe.”

“What could we have—” Tim cut himself off with a grunt, and Armie knew he was giving in to the need to chase orgasm again. Before he could stop himself, he was doing the same. The second wave was even stronger than the first, and it left him shivering, blinking at the room around him until his vision began to clear.

As the muddled shapes took concrete form once more, he spotted a tiny triangle of white sticking out of the back pocket of his discarded pants. He squinted at it, trying to place it, and then remembered: it was the agreement he had signed on his way in to Mysterioso. 

He leaned over and snagged it with the sticky fingers of his right hand, not wanting to sever his contact with Tim. With a few one-handed maneuvers and rapid shakes, he had the paper unfolded. In the bright light of the hotel bathroom, it was easier to read. 

The beginning was boilerplate, and exactly what he had thought it was while at the restaurant: restrictions on photos and recording devices and a caution not to reveal to news outlets or social media any “recognizable persons” dining. 

Recognizable persons. Like him and Tim, he supposed. 

The second half, however, made his jaw drop. 

_Should you experience discomfort after dining, you are resisting the effects of the additives. Allow yourself to experience the intended sensations and any discomfort will subside._

_Additives are not guaranteed to produce any specific effect. All effects of_ Mysterioso _dining are temporary and intended to enhance, not create, experiences of a sensory and emotional nature._

_Should the effects of the additives last beyond seventy-two hours, please send a text to the number below and assistance will be provided._

Additives? Effects? What the fuck had they stumbled into? It was Tim's invite, he remembered. What had _Tim_ stumbled into? Had he known? No, Armie decided, that didn’t make sense, because it would mean Tim _wanted_ this, and he knew there was no way that was the case. Besides, he was as confused as Armie about what was happening.

Armie’s mouth was dry. _Fuck_ , he thought. They _had_ eaten something. Something meant to make them like this. All the buzzing and itchiness and tingling? That must be the “discomfort” mentioned. The solution was to give in to it, then. If they didn’t, they would keep feeling this way, or worse. 

Except that it also said the effects were temporary. Seventy-two hours. So they just had to hold off for—

“Fuuuuuuck,” Tim groaned, on the other side of the door. “I’m coming again, I can’t—“ 

Armie closed his eyes and blew out a long breath. His own cock was aching more than ever, and he had begun to rub it absentmindedly with the back of the hand holding the _Mysterioso_ agreement. No way in hell was he going to be able to sit in this bathroom for seventy-two hours. Not in general and not with Tim just outside the door making noises and...and hurting like this. 

And not with the way his thoughts kept spiraling back to imagining Tim laid out on the bed, naked, moaning because of what Armie was doing to him. He shuddered as he envisioned the way Tim’s skin would taste as he licked his way around that long, lean body, at how Tim would feel in his mouth, at how Tim’s hands would leave indentations in his shoulders and back, as he…

He shook his head. _Stop._ He had to stay in control, to find a way to keep from ruining the best thing that had ever happened to him because they had fucked up and gone to some place that drugged your food with...with...something.

“Armie?” Tim’s voice drifted through the door, and his fingers shifted, pushed further under Armie’s hand. He sounded like he might be crying.

“Hang in there, Tim,” Armie said. “It looks like we did eat something. It’s in the waiver agreement, the restaurant adds something to the food to make you...horny.”

“We were drugged? Fuck.” There were three thuds as Tim banged his head against the door.

“Yeah. But it won’t last. The agreement says seventy-two hours. So we just have to—”

“Three _days_? Armie, I can’t...it’s barely been an hour. I can’t do this for three days.” The fear in Tim’s voice tore at Armie’s heart. 

“I get it, I do,” Armie said. “What do you want to do about it? Do you want me to leave? Get a different room? Maybe if I’m not close by, it’ll be better.”

Even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. The agreement said resistance caused discomfort. It seemed like the further apart they were, the worse the discomfort was.

There was a long silence, and Armie held his breath. If Tim told him to go, he would. Somehow. He’d run from the room and go down the street to a different hotel. He hated the idea of not being here for Tim, but...they could FaceTime. Help each other make it the three days.

If he were being totally and completely honest with himself, however...that wasn’t what he wanted. Not at all.

He heard a noisy intake of breath and then a heavy sigh. When Tim spoke, he sounded clearer and more focused than since they had left the restaurant.

“No,” he said. “I don’t want you to go.”

“You don’t?” Armie asked. “What do you want?”

“I want... _you,_ ” Tim said. “You feel it too, right? Like you’ll die if you can’t touch me?”

Armie’s heart thudded in his chest. He traced his fingers gently over the tips of Tim’s. “Yes,” he whispered. He realized Tim couldn’t hear him, and said it again, louder. “Yes. I feel it, too.”

Tim spoke again, his voice trembling. “I know you think this is a disaster, and I’m sorry it sucks for you, but can’t we just agree it’s okay? Can’t we just promise that it’s like filming, or something? We have to play a part, and then it’ll be okay again, and...and…” 

With a deep breath, Armie pushed himself to his feet. Every cell in his body screamed at him as he moved away from the door, but he forced one foot in front of the other until he got to the sink. When he saw his reflection in the gilded mirror, he gasped. His face and neck were bright red, as if he had fallen asleep in the sun and gotten a raging sunburn. 

He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it. The redness spread down his chest and stomach, all the way to his—

Outside the bathroom, Tim moaned again. 

Armie sprang into motion, rinsing his hands and splashing water on his face. Then he crossed back to the door, feeling like he was being pulled by unseen strings. He closed his hand on the doorknob. And slid the lock open quietly.

“Tim,” he said, “It’ll be okay, right? After.”

The sounds of someone scrambling into a different position came through the door. 

“Are you coming out here?” Tim said. “Are we—”

“Yes,” Armie said. “Just tell me it’ll be okay.”

“It’ll be okay, Armie,” Tim said. “Hang on a second—” Some shuffling, and then Tim’s voice was further away. “I’m ready. Open the door.”

Armie took a deep breath, and swung the door wide. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as Armie saw what was waiting for him, the breath he had just taken exploded outward. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how many chapters there will be...we'll have to see together.
> 
> I hope this is what you wanted it to be!

As soon as Armie saw what was waiting for him, the breath he had just taken exploded outward. 

_Tim_. His Tim. The Tim he had known for years, the Tim he had wanted for years — _not really, not for real, just sometimes when he let his guard down maybe a little_ — the Tim he had seen in every state of being. Every state: an anxious bundle of nerves, a cocky little shit, a nurturing playmate for his children, a frightened kid who was sick and starving, a self-conscious young actor getting naked on screen...every single state, Armie had seen it. 

Every state but _this_ one. 

Because when Armie opened the door, Tim was perched in the middle of the bed, legs spread wide, one hand on his cock. The other arm beckoned to Armie. 

“Thank god,” Tim said, chest heaving as though he had just run up seventeen flights of stairs. “Just fucking _touch_ me.”

At Tim’s words, Armie lost all independent brain activity. He stumbled forward, tripping over the clothes Tim had shed, and only stopped once his shins hit the mattress. 

“You’re naked,” Armie said. He clenched his hands into fists, his palms itching and burning with the need to reach out and grab handfuls of Tim. 

“So are you,” Tim pointed out.

_Oh. Right._

“Got hot,” Armie said. 

“Me too,” said Tim. “Come _on,_ hurry up.” He reached up and grabbed Armie’s forearm, tugging at him frantically. 

Armie gave in and climbed onto the bed. As soon as Tim’s hand had hit his skin, he felt better. Clearer. He blinked down at Tim, noticing for the first time that the kid’s normally pearl-white skin was bright pink, like Armie’s. Tim must be burning up too. 

He laid a hand on Tim’s bare stomach, and Tim arched up into his touch with a whimper. Armie moved his hand up Tim’s chest in a slow, sweeping motion, watching the pinkness fade in its wake.

“That feels…” Tim blew out a breath and blinked up at Armie, his eyes losing some of the strain around the edges. “It feels so good. Fuck.”

Armie shifted forward on his knees, straddling Tim’s thighs, and added a second hand. His fingers traced a path up to Tim’s shoulders, down his arms, then back up again. He laid a palm against Tim’s neck and Tim angled his head, lengthening his neck and giving Armie more room to spread his fingers. He swiped a thumb across Tim’s Adam’s apple and felt Tim swallow beneath his grip.

By now, Tim was moaning freely and stroking himself once more. His eyes had drifted shut, and he was muttering _more_ and _yes_ and _please_ over and over again. Looking down at him, at the way his curls spread out on the pillow beneath him, at the contrast between his lashes and his once-more-pale cheeks, at the rosy nipples that stood up under the attention of Armie’s touch...Armie had one fleeting thought.

_Fucking finally._

The buzzing and roaring had subsided to a low hum in the back of his head. His skin still tingled, but the more he touched Tim, the less it burned. He leaned down and fastened his lips on Tim’s left nipple, and sucked. Tim yelped and bucked, dislodging Armie immediately.

“Sorry,” Armie said.

“No, you’re — _I’m_ sorry,” Tim gasped. “Do that again.”

This time, Armie got a good grip on Tim’s ribs to hold him in place before placing his mouth back where he wanted it. He sucked lightly and then alternated between running his tongue in a circle around the hard nub and biting gently. Electricity zinged down his spine with every gasp and whimper coming from the man beneath him. After a while, he switched to the other nipple, only releasing it when Tim’s hands landed on his shoulders and began to push.

He lifted his head and looked up, finding Tim staring at him, pupils so wide only a tiny sliver of green could be seen around the edges.

“Come up here,” Tim whispered brokenly. “I need—”

Armie crawled up the bed and laid himself flat on top of Tim, and they both moaned in relief. The remaining faint buzzing was replaced with a _pull_ in his gut, one that demanded _more, closer, now_ , and he listened to it, taking Tim’s mouth in a deep kiss. 

As soon as their lips met, the world around them faded. Nothing existed. Not their regular lives, not their careers, not their families...not even the hotel or the bed beneath them. It all dissolved into a pulsing energy that seemed to push them towards each other, helpless on wave after wave of need.

Armie felt like he was nothing but a receptor for sensation. The silky glide of Tim’s tongue against his, the taste of Tim’s lips, the softness of Tim’s hair under his fingertips, the sound of Tim’s desperate moans in his ears, the scent of Tim’s sweat, the strength of Tim’s thighs as they wrapped around Armie’s waist and squeezed, the pressure of Tim’s cock against his…

It was all Tim.

“Tim,” he whispered, dragging his lips to Tim’s ear. “Timmy.”

Hips pressed up against his in a slow, delicious grind, and he groaned, then pressed back. The rhythm was easy to find, as if it had always been there, simply waiting to be unlocked. They rocked against each other, slowly at first and then faster, motions becoming more urgent but never out of sync.

“Armie,” Tim whispered, “I’m—”

“Me too,” Armie murmured back. “Do it.”

With a cry, Tim exploded between them, and when Armie’s cock slid through the sticky mess on Tim’s stomach, he was coming too, burying his face in Tim’s neck to muffle his shout.

Afterwards, he trailed his fingers through Tim’s hair and down his arms, skimming over goose bumps and hair standing on end. Tim was like jelly beneath him, still moaning softly. He wanted to ask if Tim was okay, but instead he found himself going in for another kiss, unable to stop and think longer than to recognize that what he wanted was right in front of him and he could simply take it.

He expected Tim’s lips to be limp and pliant under his, but instead Tim took charge of the kiss, pushing into Armie’s mouth with a dominance that made him want to smile. As they kissed, he could feel the wave of need rising again. From the way Tim moved beneath him, and the way Tim was still hard, he knew he wasn’t the only one.

“Armie,” Tim said, in between kisses, “please...can you...I need...you to…”

In case his meaning was unclear, Tim reached between them and wrapped his fingers around Armie’s still-hard cock. Armie grunted, his hips thrusting forward, but Tim guided him backwards, lower, until he was bumping up against Tim’s hole. 

“Yeah?” Armie asked. 

“Yes. _Hurry_.” Tim moved, trying to push himself onto Armie, but Armie pulled away.

“Okay, wait—”

Tim’s eyes flew open, and his grip on Armie tightened. “Don’t,” he said. “Please don’t think right now and try to run. Just keep going.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Armie reassured him. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to, which I don’t. Just hang on…” He levered himself off of Tim and scooped the remains of their earlier release onto his fingers. 

Tim relaxed again as soon as he realized what Armie was doing. Armie took over again, using their release as lube to work his fingers into Tim more roughly than he would have liked. Tim didn’t seem to mind, pushing himself down to encourage Armie to go deeper and harder.

Armie’s heart was beating in his ears, his breaths short and shallow. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but Tim was right. There wasn’t _time_ to think. Whatever this was that had its hooks in them was demanding, and at the moment it demanded _more_ . Armie wished he could take his time, make sure Tim was feeling nothing but good things, and yet his body was pushing him _now now now_ and he was helpless to do anything but respond.

When he slid home, he let his head fall onto Tim’s shoulder, his teeth sinking into the muscle at the base of his neck. Tim’s fingers dug into his back, and Armie was once again reduced to an amalgam of feeling. The rhythm was again waiting for him to pick it up and make use of it, and he focused on the way their breaths and cries seemed to harmonize like notes penned by a master composer.

It was over too quickly. Much too quickly, considering the number of times they had come in the last hour, but it seemed like none of the usual rules of biology applied. Before Armie had had a chance to savor being one with Tim in a way he had only ever dreamed about in whispers and shadows, they were sobbing their release once more.

This time, the need seemed to be satisfied, at least temporarily. Armie slid out of Tim — his dick had finally gone softer — and rolled to the side, gulping air. He was afraid to fully let go of Tim, and Tim must have felt the same, because he rolled Tim with him and Tim went without complaint, curling into Armie with what sounded almost like a purr.

“You okay?” Armie asked, when he could form words again.

“Mmmm,” Tim hummed. He kissed Armie’s collarbone and nuzzled closer. “Good. You?”

“Very good,” Armie said. “Jesus christ.”

One hand slid down to cup Tim’s ass, and Tim shivered. Armie sat up slightly and grabbed the blanket at the end of the bed — he didn’t have the energy to find their way under the covers properly — and shook it over them.

“God this is so much better,” Tim murmured. He blinked at Armie, looking sleepy. “So much better.”

“How do you think this works?” Armie said. “Is that it?”

“Don’t think so,” Tim said, running his hands up and down Armie’s back. “Still...there. Just quiet. Why, do you think it’s over? Are you not feeling—”

“No,” Armie said, realizing that Tim was right. The pull in his gut was indeed still there, tugging softly enough that he could control it for now. “I still feel it, too. We might have time to sleep a little, though.” He stroked his fingers through Tim’s hair in a soothing motion.

“Okay,” Tim said. His eyes drifted closed, and he inhaled a long, slow breath. Armie smiled at how easily Tim relaxed against him, and then he closed his eyes and drifted off as well.

* * *

When Armie woke, Tim was exploring his body with his lips and teeth and tongue, and he was already painfully hard again. 

“You can keep sleeping,” Tim said, his lips forming the words around Armie’s nipple. “I’ll wake you up when—”

“Too late, I’m awake,” Armie said through gritted teeth. “Just fucking keep doing whatever you’re doing, okay?”

Tim grinned up at him and then bit down hard, drawing a curse from Armie’s lips. Armie let his head fall back onto the pillow, grabbed onto the comforter on either side of his hips, and settled in to enjoy the ride.

It turned out that having his ass in the air, with Tim thrusting into him on a string of praises, was something he never knew he always needed.

* * *

Around four in the morning, Armie swallowed his pride and called down to the front desk for lube. He was surprised they weren’t _both_ sore in multiple places, but even if there was fucking _magic_ involved in whatever the restaurant had given them, he didn’t think it was possible to keep using come as lube for three days.

When the knock on the door came, he wrapped the blanket around his hips and opened the door just enough to exchange the proffered bottle for a handful of crisp twenties. He was careful to keep his face in the shadows, and simply said, “thanks.” The person who had brought the lube wisely said nothing and retreated. By the time Armie turned around, the buzzing and tingling had begun again, and he hurried back to the bed, where Tim had curled up on himself.

“I’m back,” he said, and was only too happy to wrap himself around Tim and claim his lips once more.

* * *

Several hours — and rounds — later, Armie was returning from the bathroom. The sun had risen, and cast a warm glow throughout the room, since they hadn’t had the wherewithal to draw the blackout shades the night before. He smiled softly at the sight that greeted him. Tim was sprawled face down across the bed, snoring lightly, a small frown on his face. He looked a little like a wood sprite, something otherworldly that had decided to stop in and visit a while. Armie reached out and ran a palm along Tim’s cheek, and the frown smoothed into an expression of contentment.

The pang Armie felt in his gut in that moment had very little to do with the spell they were under, and he pushed it aside as quickly as it had arisen.

Before he got back into bed, he called down for breakfast, and while he was at it, Tim opened his eyes and sat up, looking around wildly. He relaxed when his gaze landed on Armie. Armie took one look at Tim’s eyes and put in an order for lunch and dinner. They weren’t going anywhere for a while.

Twelve hours down. Sixty more to go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically just porn. I didn't think you'd mind.

After polishing off a dinner of three club sandwiches and two pieces of cake between them, they reclined side-by-side on the sofa, letting the food coma overtake them while they watched meaningless television. There was a rare moment of waking calm, and Armie let his gaze slide from the cooking show to the man stretched out beside him.

Tim’s eyes were at half-mast as he watched a contestant onscreen attempt to save something from the fryer. He appeared half asleep, or at least in the disconnected state in which your brain decides it’s too tired to actively seek input from your surroundings. His curls were wild, sticking up in all directions and frizzing around his cheeks, and his lips were puffy and pink from hours of kissing.

He was wearing a hotel bathrobe, unbelted. It hung over his shoulders and draped loosely across his thighs, but gapped to expose his pale stomach and his crotch. Pink streaks arced across his chest, evidence of Armie’s stubble scratching away repeatedly at his sensitive skin. His cock was at rest; the length of time between episodes of urgent need had grown longer, giving them reasonable breaks. Armie idly wondered how long they had before that crackling began again, the tiny needles in his skin demanding that he _touch_ and _be touched_ at all costs.

What was interesting was that even though the fabricated need was quiet, he still felt the urge to run his fingers along Tim’s skin, to put his lips on Tim’s mouth. It must be, he reasoned, because his best friend was truly beautiful in his fucked-out state. It was no surprise, really. Tim was beautiful no matter the context. It was something Armie had thought for a long time, how much he enjoyed just _looking_ at Tim. He had long ago given in to the desire to seek out photos in the late hours, times he couldn’t sleep, to take comfort in the sight of that beauty. He’d stare at his phone, smiling at the knowledge that he got to see it in person more than some, and how lucky that made him.

And maybe, if he was being honest with himself, he had wondered if the way Tim had _acted_ matched up with the reality. If the way he looked when he was pretending to be aroused, pretending to have been loved with enthusiasm, was even close to what it would be in truth. Armie had never thought he’d get an answer to that, and yet...here they were. Lucky, that was definitely the word to describe it.

He was _lucky_ that he got to see it for himself, see that Tim in reality was even better than Tim in character.

He scratched at his scalp. It was itchy. No wonder, they hadn’t showed yet that day, and had worked up sweat after sweat. As he watched Timmy’s stomach rise and fall with his breath, pushing out into that cute little round shape Armie wanted to lick, he made a decision. When he shoved himself to his feet, Timmy blinked and looked up.

“Where are you going?” he asked. 

“To take a shower,” Armie said. He held out a hand. “Want to come with me?”

Tim’s eyes lit up, his lower lip separated from his top, and his tongue snuck out and traced a line across.

“Are you...is it starting again? For you?” he asked.

Armie hesitated. He could say yes, but that pull was still a quiet hum in the background. A promise of future need, but nothing immediate. The desire to have Tim slippery beneath his palms wasn’t because of some additive in his food. It was just...him. He wondered if he should be worried about that. After a moment, he shook his head, and just said what he was thinking.

“Not yet,” he said. “I just thought...I’d like you with me.”

Tim’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Then...okay.” He let Armie pull him to his feet.

Armie led them into the bathroom, dropping his robe on the way. Tim laughed and jumped over the pile of terrycloth, then dropped his own robe on top of it. Armie smirked over his shoulder.

When the shower was running good and hot, Armie ducked in, closing his eyes and letting the water run over him for thirty seconds. He stepped aside and opened his eyes once clear of the spray, and Tim was standing there, watching him.

“What?” he asked. 

Tim shook himself slightly, as if he were dragging himself out of a trance, and then cleared his throat. “Nothing. You’re wet.”

“A shower will do that to a guy. Come on,” Armie beckoned him forward.

Tim took his time wetting down his hair — well, he had a lot of it, Armie allowed — and while he did that, Armie poured shampoo into his hand. When Tim tried to turn around, Armie just pulled him out from under the spray and began to work on his hair. Tim let out a soft moan.

“You don’t...you don’t have to do that,” he said. “I can wash my own hair.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Armie asked softly. “Be quiet and let me play. You can do mine when I’m done.”

“Okay,” Tim said, letting out a long, contented sigh.

Armie dug his fingertips into Tim’s scalp in a deep massage. Tim moved into the touch, and seemed to melt under it. His limbs went loose and before long he was leaning his hips back to rest on Armie’s thighs.

Armie slid his soapy hands down Tim’s neck, along his shoulders, and down his arms, and Tim sighed again. Not wanting to break contact, Armie slipped an arm around Tim’s waist and spread his hand across Tim’s stomach before reaching for the body gel. He squirted it on Tim’s chest, and then spread it around with both hands, reveling in the feel of Tim’s skin sliding under his palms.

He let his hands drift down, down, down, his fingers snaking their way into the hair between Tim’s legs. Tim grunted, and his hips jerked, and Armie smiled at the way Tim’s cock rose in interest. He still wasn’t feeling the additive-induced need, just this quiet pull behind his balls, but his own cock rose in answer, nestling between Tim’s cheeks. He slipped his palm underneath Tim’s cock and lifted it gently.

Tim hissed a little in response.

“Sore?” Armie asked.

“Sensitive,” Tim responded. “But...not as much as I’d think I would be. It’s okay.” He circled his hips backward once, and then a second time, and Armie hissed a little himself. “You too?”

“Yeah,” Armie said. 

Tim suddenly swiveled in his arms. “Your turn,” he said, reaching for the shampoo. 

Armie closed his eyes as Tim began to work the shampoo against his scalp. It felt incredible, and as Tim switched to the body gel and began to soap him up, he let himself relax into the touch. Before long, he was feeling like he had jelly for muscles, and that tingling had begun under his skin again.

He walked forward, pushing them both under the spray, letting it fall over them, between them. Tim was slippery against him, moving just enough to create a gentle friction and ratchet up the need another notch. He wondered if Tim felt it, too. After a minute, he reached around and shut off the water.

Tim blinked up at him, droplets of water sparkling on his lashes. There was a moment of silence between them, and then Tim said, “Take me to bed. Please.”

With a nod, Armie stepped out of the shower, pulling Tim with him. He grabbed a towel and wrapped Tim in it, patting him down, before taking the same towel and using it to dry himself off. He winced. His nerves were crackling again, firing off at the gentlest of touches. Even the velvety surface of the high-end towel was almost too much on his skin. 

Tim grabbed the towel from Armie and flung it into the corner, and then Armie had his arms full of the soft, sweet-smelling man. Their lips met, and Armie dove in, his palms landing on Tim’s ass to pull him close. Wet curls tickled his cheeks and he licked his way deeper and deeper, swallowing Tim’s moans.

Somehow, they made it out of the bathroom and onto the bed, a tangle of damp limbs and questing hands. Once there, however, Armie decided he had a way to — maybe — give their oversensitive cocks a break.

He flipped Tim onto his stomach and then pulled his hips up until Tim was resting on his elbows and knees. Tim let out a yelp in response but then settled into position and dropped his forehead onto the pillow.

“Use lots of lube,” he murmured into the pillow.

“Not quite yet,” Armie said. 

He spread his hands on Tim’s cheeks and used his thumbs to spread them, revealing Tim’s pink hole. It looked less angry and abused than Armie would have expected. He sent up a quick thanks to any gods that were listening that this thing that had them in its grips seemed to have healing powers as well. He leaned in.

At the first touch of his mouth, Tim pushed his hips back and whimpered. Armie grinned against his ass and slowly ran the tip of his tongue in a circle, just outside the center. He lightly tapped at the edges, circling over and over. The sounds Tim was making went deeper, communicating a growing intensity in his need.

“Oh, please,” he whispered urgently. “Please, Armie.”

“Please what?” Armie asked. He blew slightly, and Tim shivered beneath him.

“ _Any_ thing,” Tim said. “Anything, just—” He cut himself off with a high whine as Armie slid the flat of his tongue up in one long lick. “Holy fuck.”

His chest swelling in satisfaction, Armie got to work. He let the timbre of Tim’s moans and the harshness of his gasps direct him, sucking and licking and finally pushing his tongue inside, past the surprisingly tight muscle.

Armie let out a groan of his own at the musky taste and the velvety sensation that greeted him. He licked inside, pulsing in and out as Tim began to push against him, setting up a rhythm that tortured them both. The more Tim moved, the deeper Armie got, until his cock was hard as a rock and he tried to angle his hips to let him brush against the bedding to get some relief.

“Fuck, Armie,” Tim gasped. “I’m gonna —” 

Before he could finish, he was clenching around Armie’s tongue, shooting all over the sheets. Armie kept working his tongue in and out as Tim moaned and cried, until the kid collapsed onto the bed in a heap.

Armie gazed down at him, letting his hands stroke up his ass and his back in a slow arc. Tim hummed, and then turned his head on the pillow and opened one eye.

“Jesus Christ, that was…” He blew out a breath. Then he rolled over, pushed his still-wet curls out of his eyes, and smiled up at Armie.

Armie’s breath caught at the sight beneath him. He was still in the grips of the spell, still itching to touch and be touched, still anxious for his own release, but for just a second, all he wanted was to be able to look at this man, exactly like this, for the rest of his life. He concentrated on every curve, every shadow, every dimple and every bruise, committing it to memory.

After a moment, Tim pushed himself up on his elbows, and then sat up. His eyes were shining, and he grinned.

“Your turn,” he said.

Twenty-four hours gone. Forty-eight more to enjoy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By hour thirty-six, Armie was convinced he’d never lose the urge to keep touching Tim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost to the end! Thanks for your patience. I should probably tattoo that on my forehead at this point...but I do truly appreciate all of you so very much.
> 
> 100% fiction. Enjoy!

By hour thirty-six, Armie was convinced he’d never lose the urge to keep touching Tim.

The sun rose as they came together once more, and afterwards, they lay tangled, fingers seeking out skin and mouths meeting again and again in lazy kisses and caresses. It seemed to Armie that he couldn’t get enough of Tim now that he had had a taste. He kept him close, stroking and nuzzling, even when the urgent need was quiet.

Tim didn’t seem to mind, which was good, because Armie couldn’t bring himself to worry about it.

In between kissing, they talked. It wasn’t the first time they had talked intimately at length. It wasn’t even the first time they had lain naked together and talked; filming had included plenty of that. But it had been a long time since they had had so much uninterrupted _time_ , and Armie found his heart swelling with the glow of contentment to be able to just be with Tim again.

Their conversation ebbed and flowed, dancing across subjects both serious and lighthearted. Tim brought up a book he was reading, and proceeded to tell Armie the entire story, emphasizing with wild hand gestures that made Armie dodge near-impact. Armie asked about the Chalamets and was regaled with stories of Pauline’s filmmaking and Marc’s attempts to make the perfect soufflé. Tim wanted to hear about the kids, and Armie did his best to mimic Ford’s discovery of the concept of a joke.

It was all important, and none of it was, and that was what made it perfect.

Through all of this, Armie had one eye on the clock. As the hours slid by, the demands of their circumstances were less frequent, beginning to mimic more realistic refractory timelines. And when it hit, it was not as intense — at least for him. He wasn’t sure about Tim, who seemed to still be just as frantic and focused as ever. Armie found himself wondering exactly when it would be over. Would they have the seventy-two hours, or was that merely a maximum? He didn’t know. 

At hour forty, Armie grabbed Tim’s hips, pinned him against the wall, and knelt at his feet. The kid gazed down at him, eyes wide and pupils blown, as he nosed his way along Tim’s cock from its root to its head. He gently cradled the cock on his tongue, letting the taste explode along it, until Tim shuddered and attempted to jerk his hips forward.

Armie pulled back. “You want control?” he asked.

Tim hesitated, and then said, “Yes. Can I?”

Armie nodded. “Go ahead,” he said, opening his mouth and dropping his hands to his sides.

With a groan, Tim fed his cock into Armie’s mouth slowly, then withdrew it just as slowly. Armie gazed up at him, and tried to relax, to let Tim do what he wanted. Before this, he’d never actually given a blow job, never tasted another man’s cock...but he had learned that he rather liked it. He liked it with Tim, anyhow. But each previous time he’d been the one to control how it was done. Letting Tim take the reins, letting him use Armie without resistance, scared him a little.

What if he wasn’t any good at it?

The veins in Tim’s neck stood out as he clearly held back, keeping up a slow, shallow rhythm. With each thrust, he slid a little further into Armie’s mouth, getting closer to hitting the back of his throat. Armie did his best to let it happen, and Tim moaned.

“Fuck,” he said. “You look so...I imagined this, but not...not like…”

With a grunt, he shoved deeper inside, and Armie gagged. Tim pulled out instantly.

“Sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry.”

Armie coughed and cleared his throat. “It’s okay,” he said. “Keep going.” He opened his mouth again.

“You sure?” Tim asked. 

“Uh-huh.”

With a deep breath, Tim pushed inside his mouth once more. This time, Armie was more prepared. Tim slid as far back as he could and stayed there. Armie found that if he just concentrated on _not_ gagging for a second, he got used to the feeling of Tim’s cock filling up his mouth and resting on the back of his tongue. Used to it, and turned on by it.

He moaned around Tim’s length, and Tim’s eyes widened.

He pulled out and thrust in again, and now that Armie had a handle on it, he was able to move faster. With another curse, Tim placed his hands on either side of Armie’s head to hold him steady.

Armie closed his eyes and gave in, letting everything go except sensation. He listened to the sounds Tim was making, felt and and tasted him, and surrendered. He was moaning freely now too, and he could feel his own cock hardening further, leaking onto the carpet beneath him.

With one final thrust, Tim cried out and exploded down his throat. Armie swallowed as rapidly as he could, and then Tim’s knees buckled and he landed in front of Armie. He went straight for Armie’s mouth, latching on and licking inside, still hanging onto Armie’s face like it was a lifeline.

When Tim pulled away, he was breathing hard. “Thank you,” he breathed. Before Armie could get his breath and respond, Tim pushed him onto his back. “Stay there,” he instructed.

Still in his state of hazy surrender, Armie obeyed. When Tim’s mouth closed around Armie’s cock, he let out a shaky sigh. Tim apparently decided to forego the preliminaries, because he swallowed Armie down immediately, setting up an intense rhythm that Armie was helpless against. He was coming within minutes, making sounds he was pretty sure he had never made before.

Afterwards, they sprawled out on the carpet. Tim had collapsed on top of Armie, his head lolling on Armie’s stomach, and Armie gently played with Tim’s curls.

“We should move to the bed,” he said, after a while.

“Why?” Tim asked.

“More comfortable,” Armie said.

“I’m comfortable here,” Tim said.

Sure enough, a minute later, he was snoring, his breath tickling Armie’s skin. Armie decided Tim was right, he was comfortable enough where he was, with Tim on top of him and his hand in Tim’s hair, and drifted off as well.

By hour fifty, Armie was pretty certain the effect of whatever they had been given had worn off, at least for him. He still felt a need for Tim, but the _quality_ of the need was different. Before, it had been sharp and noisy and bright, like it was accompanied by flashing neon lights and garish colors and the sounds of an insistent snare drum rattling in his head. Now…

Now it was softer. Rich, muted colors and a deep _pull_ that was centered not on his groin but from his entire core. The music in his head was harmonious rather than discordant. When he reached for Tim now, it wasn’t because something was pushing him. It was because he felt a pull of a different sort.

It was new, but it also felt familiar, and Armie found himself wondering if it had always been there, lurking, this desire for his best friend. He was forced to admit that all the casual buried thoughts he had not wanted to linger on for years were just waiting for an opportunity to break free.

Even without the additives, or whatever had caused this, he wanted to be with Tim.

These thoughts were on his mind as he left Tim sleeping — in the bed this time — and went to draw a bath. His body was starting to once again be able to feel the effects of their frequent activities, and he worried that Tim would be sore as well. 

He was just shutting the water off when he heard a soft yawn behind him. He turned to see Tim leaning against the door jamb, scratching his fingers in his curls and blinking groggily.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked. 

“I thought a bath would be good,” Armie said. “I was about to wake you. See if you wanted to join me.”

Tim smiled, and Armie’s heart clenched. Tim’s lips, puffy from days of kissing, gently turned upwards. His eyes went soft and golden, crinkling slightly at the corners. 

Armie realized that he wanted to see Tim looking just like this — looking just like this at _him_ — every day for the rest of his life. His mouth went dry, and he felt his pulse pounding in his neck. _Fucking hell_.

“Yeah,” Tim said, breaking into Armie’s reverie. “Good idea.”

Armie shook himself, then cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had started to form there. He waved at the bathtub. “Hop in, then.”

Tim sank into the water with a groan that Armie felt throughout his entire body, then beckoned for Armie to join him. Armie stepped into the bath — thank god for jacuzzi-sized bathtubs — and settled himself on one side of the tub, closing his eyes and allowing the heat to blissfully seep into his muscles. 

Before he reopened his eyes, he had a lap full of Tim. Slippery skin slid against skin as Tim wedged himself between Armie’s legs and leaned back against his chest. Armie had no desire to resist; instead, he wrapped his arms securely around Tim’s waist and buried his nose in Tim’s neck. 

Tim sighed happily. “This is good,” he said. “Really good.”

Armie hummed in response. It _was_ good. The entirety of the last couple of days, starting with the dinner at _Mysterioso_ , had been better than most of the past two years, and Armie suspected he knew why. 

Somewhere along the way, while their friendship had been a constant source — sometimes the only source — of comfort and happiness, Armie had done something ridiculous and dangerous. 

He had fallen in love. 

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it, and knew he needed to think. The last thing in the world that he wanted was to fuck up their relationship. But now that he knew how he felt _and_ how incredible being with Tim could be, Armie wasn’t sure he’d be able to go back to being just friends. 

He’d have to, though. Because the alternative — to lose Tim — was unacceptable. 

They took their time in the bath. Tim grabbed up the body wash and handed it to Armie, who drizzled it onto Tim’s shoulders and then kneaded the muscles and tendons there. He let the pads of his soapy fingers slide over Tim’s nipples over and over until Tim was whining at the touch. He spread Tim’s legs wide, hooking them over his own knees, and gently cleaned all of Tim’s most sensitive parts. He rested his head on the ledge and closed his eyes when Tim turned around, straddled his waist, and sucked on the underside of his jaw. 

When the water began to cool, Armie rose and stepped out, pulling Tim with him. He dried them both off slowly with the plush towel, letting his fingertips brush along Tim’s arms and stomach and thighs, drawing goosebumps and shivers. 

By the time he tossed the towel aside, his chest and gut ached with the urge to claim Tim as his own just one time, for real, without the aid of artificial desire. He looked down at Tim, and was relieved to see Tim looking up at him, eyes dark and full of need. If Tim was still under the influence, he had a chance. 

Armie scooped Tim up in his arms in a bridal hold and kissed him, reveling in the feel of their tongues meeting sweetly and the way Tim melted against him, fitting perfectly in his arms. He carried Tim out into the bedroom and gently laid him on the bed, crawling over him with singular purpose. 

Tim offered up no resistance. Every other time they had come together had been a battle between them as they were driven to satisfy a burning need. This time...there was nothing urgent at all, from either of them, and so Armie moved slowly, to make it last. 

He mapped out Tim’s body with his mouth, opened him with his tongue, and slid inside on an offer of thanks to whatever gods had made this possible. Tim shuddered and whimpered and hummed, his hand skimming over every inch of Armie’s skin as though he, too, were making a memory. 

When they came, they came together. Armie had come countless times in the past two-plus days, earth-shattering releases that tore screams from his chest. But this...was different. More powerful, as though he was releasing something directly from his soul. 

Maybe he was. 

They fell asleep while whispering affectionate admiration in each other’s ears, tangled together from head to toe. Armie’s arms were locked around Tim, as though he were afraid the man would slip away. 

He awoke six hours later, better rested than he’d been for days but still feeling groggy and confused. He reached across the mattress space, hunting for Tim, and found nothing. With a bolt of panic, he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. 

“Hey,” Tim said, from the sofa. He gave Armie a sheepish smile. Armie squinted at him. He was dressed, and lacing up his boots. 

“What are you doing?” Armie asked. He knew, though. It was obvious, and the knowledge sat like acid in his stomach. 

“I think it’s over.” Tim stood and stretched, grunting slightly. “I’m pretty sure. The buzzing is gone, and I don’t feel...it’s not the same. As it was.”

“Right. Over.” Armie rubbed a hand across his face, clearing sleep out of his eyes. “You’re probably right. So...you’re going?”

Tim shrugged and shuffled a boot on the carpet, his eyes downcast. “I thought...yeah. I should. We both need sleep, and I’m behind on stuff, and you...have rehearsals starting so you probably have a ton of prep to do.”

Armie swallowed. “Yeah. I do.”

“Okay, so…” Tim looked up, his expression troubled. “So this is — I mean, we said it wouldn’t — things aren’t going to be fucked now, right? We’ll just...forget about it?”

“Sure,” Armie said, his chest squeezing painfully. “Of course. We’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Tim smiled wistfully. “Sorry I got us into that mess in the first place.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Armie said, forcing a smile onto his own face. “All things considered, it wasn’t...so bad.”

Tim looked relieved. “Right. Then I’m gonna…” he jerked his head towards the door. “I’ll call you later?”

“You better,” Armie said. 

And then, with a goofy wave and a shake of his curls, Tim was gone. 

Armie sank back onto the mattress, feeling like his bones had turned to jelly and his chest was cracked in two. He squeezed his eyes shut and wondered briefly if he was still under the effects of the additive after all, but deep inside he knew: this was pain of an entirely different kind.

So this is what existence was going to feel like from now on. Wonderful. 

He thought back over the past two and a half days. And then further, to every FaceTime and text and secret meetup. To the adventures they had, and the way being with Tim made him happy to his core. To all the times having Tim by his side felt like _home_. To the way Tim looked at him, laughed with him, _chose_ him time and again, even when he—

Armie was up and out of the bed and reaching for clothes, any clothes, before he had made a conscious decision. He had buttoned his shirt all wrong and was wearing only one sock before he gave up and was sprinting down the hallway to the elevator. 

Maybe if he was fast, he’d be able to catch Tim before he left. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t let that happen. This had to happen now, or...he wasn’t sure he’d have the courage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! This was supposed to be a little oneshot and as always I got carried away.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the addition of the sex pollen trope into the Charmie-verse.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you're all staying safe and healthy!

Armie skidded to a halt at the elevators and jammed his finger on the “down” button twelve times. When it finally arrived, he jabbed at the “Lobby” button and then the “close doors” button repeatedly until he was finally descending.

Tim didn’t have much of a head start, Armie figured. He hoped that he could catch him out on the street before he got into a cab. If not, he’d call and tell him to turn around...with the phone he had left in the room, along with his wallet and key card. He sighed and paced the tiny square of space impatiently. If he didn’t catch up with Tim now, it would take a few minutes to get back into his room and get to his phone, giving Tim more of a chance to get farther away.

He couldn’t let that happen. This had to happen now, or...he wasn’t sure he’d have the courage.

The doors finally eased open and Armie shot out into the lobby. He ran straight for the entrance, shoving the revolving door as hard as he could. Out on the sidewalk, he shivered in his shirtsleeves and curled his toes under in protection against the freezing cement. The sun was shining its bright early morning light onto the city, but hadn’t had a chance yet to warm the air. His breath huffed out in a fog as he looked left and right. People were walking by, but there was no Tim in sight.

A throat cleared to his left. “Can I...do you need assistance, sir?” 

Armie blinked at the uniformed doorman addressing him. The man looked concerned as he took in Armie’s lack of coat and shoes. Armie hesitated a minute, and then shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I was trying to catch someone, but it looks like they’re gone.”

He trudged back inside, knowing the rush was over. By the time he got the front desk to send someone upstairs with him and unlock his room, Tim would be halfway home. More than that. Enough time to pull away, think clearly, lock away what had happened in a neat little box. Even just a minute out in the cold air had shocked his own system into doubt.

Upstairs, he had thought for a moment that maybe Tim was into him the way he now realized he was into Tim. In a real, and not artificial sense. He wasn’t basing it on any one thing, just...years of little things, and three days of intense experience. But he could be wrong. Misreading things. Wishing something into existence where really there was nothing.

Armie’s stomach sank, and he began to feel numb.

Once inside, he stopped for a moment, willing the chill to dissipate. He glanced over at the reception desk, in front of which were a line of travelers checking out. He’d have to wait, then. He turned towards the sitting area, intending to just exist for a minute while the lines died down.

Then he stopped in his tracks, his mouth dropping open. Sitting on one of the loveseats, looking right at him with wide green eyes, was Tim.

They stared at each other for a full thirty seconds, not moving. Finally, Armie willed his feet to propel him forward. _Tim hadn’t left_. A spark of hope blossomed in his chest.

He reached Tim and gazed down at him. “You didn’t leave,” he said simply.

“You...have one sock on,” Tim said, looking him up and down. “And no shoes.”

Armie glanced down and blushed. “I was in a hurry.”

“I saw that. You ran out the front door like the place was on fire. Why are you...were you looking for me?” Tim bit his lip, and his nostrils flared slightly. “Is that why you’re in such a hurry?”

After a moment of hesitation, during which he tried to control the sluice of anxiety rolling in his stomach, Armie nodded.

“Yeah. I needed to…” he ran a hand through his hair and looked away, watching the people milling about the lobby around them, searching for the right words.

“Is it not over?” Tim asked. “Not done? I thought it was, but are you...are you still feeling like—”

“No,” said Armie quickly. “I mean...yes. It’s done, but... _I’m_ not.”

With a sigh, Armie sat on the chair next to Tim’s loveseat. His hands itched to reach out and pull Tim into his arms, but if he was going to _do_ this, he needed to talk first.

“The... _thing_...is over,” he said. “Whatever that was, the additives in our food that made us unable to stay apart, that’s done. I think, for me, it’s been done since yesterday afternoon.”

He watched Tim carefully, watched his words register. Tim frowned slightly, his brows drawing together and his lips forming a tiny pout of concentration. Then everything shifted, and his lips parted in a tiny gasp.

“Since yesterday?” he asked. “Before—”

“Since before the bath,” Armie said. “Maybe even earlier.”

“But you still…” Timmy swallowed. “We still…”

Armie shifted in his chair, dug his toes into the rug under his feet for stability, and decided to stop beating around the bush.

“I did. I knew it was over, but I didn’t _want_ it to be. I wanted to be with you, Tim. I still want to. I think maybe I’ve wanted to for a long time.” He watched as Timmy paled, and immediately felt a wave of doubt once more. “If that’s too much, if you’re sitting there thinking _he’s a big fucking asshole_ , then just tell me and I’ll drop it. I don’t want to lose you, and so if you’re not feeling the same way, just—”

Timmy launched himself off the loveseat and into Armie’s lap. Their lips met, and Armie opened to Tim, relief coursing through him and sending tremors down his spine. Tim was _kissing_ him, when he didn’t have to, and that was all that mattered.

When they came up for air, Tim was grinning.

“Thank fucking god,” he said. “I thought I was going to go crazy, to get a taste of you and then have to go back to standing to the side and fucking wishing all the time for something I couldn’t have. You really mean it? You want this?”

“I really mean it,” Armie said, laughing. But Tim stopped smiling suddenly, and Armie pinched his side. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“For you, is this just...did you mean you wanted to keep sleeping together? Is that what you’re looking for?” Tim’s voice was small, but he looked Armie in the eyes as he spoke, his gaze unwavering. “Because for me it’s more than that.”

Armie reached up and tucked a stray curl behind Tim’s ear, and then stroked a finger down his cheek. 

“It’s more than that for me, too. A whole lot more.” He stood and set Tim on his feet, then took his hand. “Let’s go back upstairs. I think we should talk. About what this all means and what the future is going to look like.”

They went to the front desk to get someone to let them into the room. Armie explained his situation, and they stepped off to the side to wait. Armie slid his hand down Tim’s back and over his ass, squeezing playfully and drawing an indignant squeak from Tim. He felt a small hard square in one back pocket, and reached inside to pull it out.

It was Tim’s copy of the _Mysterioso_ agreement. Shaking it open, he scanned it quickly, searching for one particular clause that was suddenly pinging in his brain. _There_. He read it out loud.

_“All effects of_ Mysterioso _dining are temporary and intended to enhance, not create, experiences of a sensory and emotional nature.”_

He read it out loud, and Tim’s mouth dropped open. “It was right there,” he said. “In writing, if we had bothered to read it.”

“We did read it,” Armie said. “But we were a little distracted at the time.”

He noticed that Tim was watching his mouth intently, and he bent down with a soft kiss.

“Even if it's over,” Tim murmured, “I am feeling like...if I don’t spread you out on the bed and—”

“Right this way gentleman,” an employee came into their line of vision, waving, and Tim stopped talking, blushing a deep scarlet.

As they followed the man to the elevator, Armie leaned in and whispered in Tim’s ear. “Spread me out on the bed and what?”

Tim giggled. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

“Mysterious,” muttered Armie, squeezing Tim’s hand. “I like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm onlyastoryteller on Tumblr if you need to yell at me. Which I'm sure you do.


End file.
